


Infidelity, It Tastes of Cigarettes

by EvilPeaches



Series: Playing for keeps and losing [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Affairs, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Blow Jobs in a Car, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Jealousy, M/M, Office, Oral Sex, Public Blow Jobs, Rimming, Rivalry, Rough Sex, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Slice of Life, Theon Makes Poor Life Choices, gratuitous smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-04 21:43:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18821326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilPeaches/pseuds/EvilPeaches
Summary: Robb Stark doesn’t forgive and Ramsay Bolton doesn’t let go.***Smoke drifts from Bolton in a cloud. His sport coat is slung casually over his shoulder.“Hey. Can I bum one off you?” Theon doesn’t even smoke, but for some reason he feels like he needs to look tough and badass too.Icy eyes look him up and down with disinterest. “No.”“Prat.”Bolton blows smoke in his face with a mean grin.





	Infidelity, It Tastes of Cigarettes

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I don't own Game of Thrones or the characters. All belong to George R. R. Martin.
> 
>  **AN:** OMG. I told myself I wouldn't start this sequel / prequel to "Lips Tell Lies for The Heart" until after I finalized the last chapter of "The Outcome", but screw it, here we are. As a note, you don't have to read the other fic to read this, but it helps.
> 
> I decided to make this 2 chapters long because I would have been writing this first chapter forever. Second Part is almost complete, so don't really need to worry about that. Sigh.
> 
>  **Warning for those who need it:** This is Theon's POV, where Robb was the POV of "Lips Tell Lies for the Heart". We are getting a very different look at what Theon has been getting up to and he's a naughty piece of shit. Sorry!

_When you touch me you take me to heaven_  
_When you hold me my body's a weapon_  
_If you think that you can save me, break me down, and tame me_  
_Here's your chance to do some damage, savage_

_“Savage” - Bahari_

* * *

 

* * *

 

 

They meet in a boardroom downtown and in the end, Theon wishes they hadn’t.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

“I want you to lead the project,” Ned Stark had told Theon the week before, sitting outside Winterfell on the large porch. The sun is setting just beyond, a beautiful spring evening.

“Isn’t this something Robb should be doing? He knows the lay of the land better than I do…” Theon had replied, shocked that Ned was trying to give him lead on any sort of project.

Accountability and Theon Greyjoy were considered oil and water.

Serious Ned only shook his head, a grim look on his face as he rested his hand on Theon’s shoulder. “No, Theon. This is a responsibility I am giving to you. This is a joint venture between myself and Roose Bolton. We are building a new facility and I want you to pick the best location and the layout.”

“That’s all? What if I choose wrong?” Theon was always doing something wrong, he’d never been right his entire life, to hear him tell it.

Ned gave him a slow, stern smile. Barely a smile at all, in fact. One of his rare looks that you had to see to believe. “You’ll work with the Bolton lawyers and team. They’ll deal with the permits and legal stuff that comes with acquiring and getting the property in place for the new business location. Bolton’s Bas-, ah…son…is experienced with these engagements, Roose has assured me. You’ll do fine, Theon.”

 _Oh. Seems legit_ , Theon had thought at that point, a small bounce to his step as he drove home with Robb later that night.

Robb had been ecstatic, of course. “I’m proud of you, Theon. You’ll do great, I promise. Put the effort in and my father will give you more opportunities like this.”

“Unless I fuck it up. Then he’ll tan my hide,” Theon had said with an air of surety.

Ned Stark had never laid a hand on his own children, but Theon Greyjoy had often needed some scolding as a younger man. As if he hadn’t gotten beaten enough as it was by his own flesh and blood.

“You’re twenty-nine; my father is not going to tan your hide. You’re not sixteen and fucking girls in his backyard anymore,” Robb had responded dryly.

Robb didn’t understand; Theon needs to do good, just once in his life. He needs Ned to see him as useful, as not a waste of space. He wants to be good enough for Robb, because Robb has always been perfect, Robb has never had to try to be in anyone’s good graces.

Theon, on the other hand, has had to struggle his entire life.

And he’s so tired of it.

 

* * *

 

So, all of this had led up to this moment now, with Theon sitting in this empty boardroom with his team in the North’s downtown. They represent Ned Stark’s side of this business venture, and all of them are waiting on the Bolton legal team to make an appearance.

Jory Cassel rolls his eyes and sighs, staring out the large boardroom windows, looking out into the city. “Not sure why Ned is doing a joint venture with Bolton; he doesn’t have the best reputation.”

Theon twiddles his thumbs, placing his feet on the large table as he leans back in his chair. “Because, Bolton gets shit done. That’s why.”

Tutting, Jory gives Theon a corrective look. “Watch your mouth around the lawyers. They’ll expect more professionalism.”

Rolling his eyes, Theon replies, “Lawyers have all sold their souls to the devil; pretty sure they don’t care if I swear in front of them.”

The door slams open and four men in finely tailored suits walk in. The first man in has midnight hair and eyes like a winter landscape, a sneer that makes something twist deep in Theon’s stomach. “Speak of the devil and he shall appear,” the man says, holding his hand out to Theon. He’s got an expensive watch and it shows on his wrist. “Ramsay Bolton. You must be the patsy that the honorable Ned Stark sent to keep us in line.”

Theon’s eyes bug out and he nearly bites his retort off his own tongue. He grits his teeth and says tightly, “That’s right; we’re here to make sure you and your team of gorillas don’t get us all sent to jail in a fucking ladies handbag. Fucking hell.”

Jory covers his face in mortification, but Theon ignores him as he reaches out to shake Bolton’s hand. Their hands connect and Bolton squeezes like he’s trying to crush Theon’s hand into nothing; Theon returns the favor.

They both must look like something special, standing their glaring at each other, holding each other’s hands.

“Alright, can we put our dicks away and get this meeting started?” Jory Cassel asks with exasperation.

The two teams sit down at the table, drawing out their various papers and folders. Ramsay Bolton sits directly across from Theon, intense eyes boring into the side of Theon’s face. When Theon meets his gaze again, Bolton pushes his tongue against his cheek while subtly gesturing with his fist, mimicking a blowjob discreetly.

Theon pretends to wipe something off his cheek with his middle finger.

 

* * *

Needless to say, the project does not have a smooth start.

* * *

 

A week later, Robb asks him how the new responsibility, the new project is going. Theon sighs loudly and with exaggeration. “It’s fiiiine. The Bolton legal team is ridiculous. What a buncha chodes. I spend most of the day wishing I could throw them off the roof, one by one.”

Robb laughs, oiled up hands running down Theon’s spine. His strong, confident fingers work through his tight muscles, trying to relieve some of the stress from Theon’s body. Theon snuggles his face into his pillow and inhales, smells the comforting scent of Robb and him mingled there. Robb’s fingers dig into his skin, sending rushes of liquid into Theon’s belly, especially as Robb travels further down.

“Sounds like you’re having a blast at work then,” Robb says with a chuckle, the kind that makes Theon’s dick twitch.

His hands find Theon’s rear, gripping his cheeks, spreading them far apart. Theon tenses in anticipation, nearly sweating with sudden excitement. “Oh yeah, loads of fun,” Theon mumbles, pressing back against Robb, trying to get his ass in his face.

“I know how to fix that, huh?” Robb asks teasingly, his thumb pressing over Theon’s tight ring of muscle.

Theon moans, pushes back, wanting, suddenly aching. “Please, Robb-”

Robb talks with his tongue instead, licking him boldly with the flat of his tongue. Theon’s toes curl and he presses his face into his pillow, groaning loudly as Robb eats him out. It’s not often that Robb does this, but when he does, Theon sees stars.

His tongue pushes into Theon, thrusting in and out, his hands playing with Theon’s balls. The sensations are too much and Theon goes boneless, Robb smiling against him, tongue and all.

Theon loves him and doesn't deserve him. Never has and never will.

* * *

 

Theon catches Bolton on the outdoor patio of their office building, smoking. He’s always smoking. He’s got this stupid way about him, ridiculously masculine and aggressive that draws Theon’s eyes. The way he stands there, glaring off into the distance like the whole world is beneath him, his elbow at a sharp angle as he draws from his poison of choice.

Smoke drifts from him in a cloud. His sport coat is slung casually over his shoulder.

“Hey. Can I bum one off you?” Theon doesn’t even smoke, but for some reason he feels like he needs to look tough and badass too.

Icy eyes look him up and down with disinterest. “No.”

“Prat.”

Bolton blows smoke in his face with a mean grin.

 _His teeth are so white_ , Theon notes vaguely.

 

* * *

 

Another week passes and Theon’s car breaks down, needs to be towed from the office. Bolton gives him a look as he slowly drives up next to Theon’s disaster show, just as the tow truck is pulling up. Bolton stares at Theon and Theon stares back.

It’s gratuitously awkward.

“I guess you need a ride, huh?” Bolton says through gritted teeth.

 _Oh my God, what a drama fucking queen. Why didn’t he just drive by?_ “Looks like it, doesn’t it?”

Neither say anything for another moment. It wasn’t an invitation to hop into Ramsay’s car, it was more of a statement. Theon doesn’t want to look to hopeful, because he needs a ride, but he hates this Lord of Douchebaggery.

“Get in, Greyjoy. You’re going to hurt yourself thinking so hard,” Bolton says finally, rolling his eyes with an air of being greatly put out.

Theon climbs in and marvels at how luxurious the car is, fine black leather seats in pristine condition. The car smells slightly of cigarettes, no surprise, but Bolton’s cologne also dominates the air as well. A strange combination, one that Theon has gotten rather used to in the office.

They drive quietly when Bolton turns on his music, flipping through some metal channels. Theon blinks in surprise; he loves heavy metal and rock. Robb isn’t too much of a fan, unfortunately, and always tells Theon to turn his racket down.

“What, too pussy for real music?” Bolton says in that snide tone of his that Theon loses his mind over most of the week.

Daily, actually. For instance:

_“Why did you choose that block? It’s harder to get a license there,” Bolton says, snide as hell, leaning over the boardroom table, hip cocked arrogantly. “Places like that will take time to secure.”_

_“Because, it’s a well sought area and I know Mr. Stark would prefer to look in that side of town,” Theon responds, as if speaking to a child, or a really stupid person._

_Bolton cocks his head to the side and squints his eyes at Theon, as he says questioningly, “But are you sure?”_

_“Oh my fucking lord, yes I’m sure!”  Theon snarls incredulously._

“I actually love this band,” Theon admits begrudgingly.

Bolton does a double-take. “Really? You know they’re going to be in town soon, yeah?”

“No way. You going?”

Shrugging, Bolton sticks a cigarette in his mouth, chews on it a bit before answering. “Some pals and I are going to go. Haven’t bought the tickets yet. Want to come with?”

Theon tries to hide the fact that he is surprised by the offer. He is shocked, Bolton is kind of an asshole all the time to Theon, but maybe that’s just his general nature. Maybe he’s like that with everyone. And…Robb would never go with him to see this band.

“If I do, are you going to give me less of a hard time for these fucking building permits?” Theon says it teasingly.

Snorting, Bolton says, “Me, go easy on a dickweed like you? Where’s the fun in that? Grow some balls.”

* * *

 

Surprisingly, Theon ends up going with Bolton and his friends a week later. The guys are a far cry from the lawyer club that Theon figured Bolton would hang with. These guys are rough, crude, and wild. Bolton seems to shed his lawyer skin like stepping out of a flesh suit. He fits in with this group, loud, a big drinker, bigger smoker, and just as aggressive. He’s got an eyebrow piercing that Theon has never seen him wear before, with a tiny red jewel on one end of it, almost unnoticeable.

Bolton the lawyer is nowhere to be found.

Theon finds himself enjoying it, enjoys not having to be a good boy for once. He’s always got to be so good when he’s at home, when he’s with the Stark’s. It’s so hard trying to be good, trying not to disappoint anyone. This…this is freeing. This is what freedom feels like.

They mosh in the pit and Bolton’s friend Damon knocks a guy out. Theon laughs, picks up a beer bottle from the wet, disgusting ground and tongues it, looking for the last drip of someone else’s beer. He’s too drunk to care how gross it is. Skinner punches him in the shoulder, laughs and hands him a new beer.

 At some point in the night, he finds Bolton getting a blowjob from some rough looking girl, right around the corner from the bathrooms. The guitar and bass scream throughout the outdoor stadium, just beyond and Theon watches Bolton’s face with interest as the girl works him over.

It’s absolutely otherworldly, seeing your boardroom opponent getting his rocks off against the wall at a rock show. Theon just can’t connect what he sees here and what he sees during the workday. It makes him crack up.

Bolton opens his piercing eyes, now slightly hazy with pleasure and alcohol, sees Theon standing there. He chuckles and grips the girl’s hair hard, pulling her off his cock. “You’ve got a friend, don’t you sweetie,” he says to the girl in a grossly nice voice, sarcastic. He’s always sarcastic. He turns her head to look at Theon and she blinks at him, clearly wasted. “My buddy could use a blow too. Why don’t you go grab her so we both can have some fun?”

Theon sways, nearly stumbles from drink. “I…ah…no. I’m in a relationship. Thanks…but…no. Definitely no.”

Theon really isn’t one for trashy girls at a concert. Maybe ten years ago, but not now.

The dark-haired man laughs, stares at Theon with a goading expression. “Come on. What your girlfriend doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

The girl on her knees makes as if to stand up and go find her friend, but Theon waves his hand seriously, gesturing for her to stay put. “No, I’m serious. I wouldn’t do that to Robb.”

It slips out of his mouth, because he’s drunk. It isn’t a secret, but it isn’t like he and Robb go around shouting that they are boning now when they used to both be straight as a whistle. Bolton’s expressive brows shoot up towards his hairline at Theon’s words.

“You’re into the dick? Christ, I’ll have her find a guy for you then,” Bolton says, “Didn’t peg you for that.”

Bolton still looks confused though, blown over by this information that he clearly didn’t know. Theon shakes his head and laughs, because this whole scene is ridiculous. “Just finish up, dude. I just came to go to take a piss.”

“Suit yourself,” Bolton mutters, grabbing the girl again, roughly shoving himself into her mouth. “Just trying to help a bro out.”

Theon watches with a strange sort of detachment, morbid curiosity perhaps, as Bolton starts fucking her face harder, so hard that her knees are probably going to bleed. In his drunk haze, he realizes that Bolton has his eyes on him throughout this whole process, so Theon chugs his beer, watches Bolton watch his throat as he swallows it down expertly.

Theon grins drunkenly, teasingly with a wink, and walks into the nearest stall to take a piss. He faintly hears Bolton climax outside with a rough growl and a few crude words. Theon smiles to himself, kinda likes how fucking gross and animalistic it all is. This is the kind of friend that Robb would _never_ approve of.

When he comes back outside, Bolton is waiting for him, zipping up his black pants. The girl is already gone. “Ready to mosh again?” Theon asks him with a grin, clapping him on the back. “You fucking beast.”

Later, when they are driving home in Skinner’s huge Tahoe, they all jam out to more music, hoarsely yelling and singing along. Their voices are jacked and they’re all three sheets to the wind, hammered. Bolton…well it’s kinda Ramsay now, to Theon anyway. When you watch a guy get sucked off, things change like that. Anyway, Ramsay is sitting next to Theon in the way back of the SUV and their thighs are pressing together. His leg is like fire against Theon’s and it’s strange, because Theon really hasn’t felt something like this for a guy ever, not aside from Robb.

Robb is the exception to all the rules and so is Theon; both had always loved women before they decided on being together. A fluke in a crazy world, but one that worked.

“So, is it Robb Stark?” Ramsay shout-whispers into Theon’s ear above the loud music in the car.

His lips accidently brush Theon’s ear and he mutters sorry. Theon feels heated, too hot, like he needs to leave the car, but tells himself to let it go, not to feel these things for this guy.

Theon nods. Ramsay stares at him, an odd expression on his face as he studies Theon, alcohol making his gaze softer.

It’s weird; the look on his face seems to look betrayed, like now he doesn’t know what to make of Theon. Like he’s wondering if Theon has ever thought of him naked.

Theon smirks. “Don’t worry, I’m not really into other guys. Just him.”

Ramsay scoffs, as if it hadn’t even crossed his mind. “Skinner!” He shouts towards the front of the SUV, “Turn this shit up! We aren’t vibrating back here yet, motherfucker!”

Skinner turns it up, but not before turning his head to look back at them, laughing. Tattoos run up and down his thick arms. “You filthy sluts, just don’t get so worked up that you fuck in my backseat; I might get jealous and join ya.”

Damon rights the steering wheel for Skinner. “Watch the road you drunk; are you trying to kill us? Who cares what they do back there?”

Theon whines in a falsetto tone, “Ooh, the vibrations. It’s getting me so worked up! We’re vibrating in your backseat, whatever will we do?”

Ramsay snickers and joins in, making falsetto moaning sounds, trying to be louder than the music.

“They’re having too much fun back there,” Alyn says. “I’m in.”

He unbuckles his seatbelt in the middle row and squeezes into the back row, slapping both Theon and Ramsay in the process.

“Sluts!” Skinner yells from the front, but turns the stereo up again, laughing raucously. 

Damon smokes his vape stick, blows cotton candy into the car. He points at a bar as they drive by. "Fucking hell, Skinner, turn this whore boat around. They've got shot specials there!"

Alyn groans dramatically. "I can't drink anymore or I'll die."

"Bitch," Ramsay snickers. 

 

* * *

 

“Did you have fun?” Robb asks when he gets home, eyes narrowing as he takes Theon in.

Theon giggles, leans against the doorway, slides down the wall a bit. He’s hammered. He can barely hear, his eardrums being pounded all night by loud music. He had ended up going to three more bars with Ramsay and his crew and couldn't even see straight anymore. In fact, he's already forgotten how he got home.

Robb inhales as he gets closer, looks at him apprehensively. “You smell awful! Wow, you fucking raged tonight. New friends?”

“Kinda.”

“Why do I get the feeling I wouldn’t like them?”

“Because you probably wouldn’t.”

It’s the truth. Robb has high standards and Theon doesn’t know why he’s settled for Theon when he could have anyone, someone less awful. Someone who isn’t thinking about how Ramsay Bolton looks when random girls suck his cock.

Theon is repulsive and he’s always hated himself, but right now he really wants to throw himself off a bridge and drown.

 

* * *

 

At work the next day, Theon and Ramsay both look like shit, hungover as hell and deaf to the world.

He joins Ramsay outside for a smoke, knows where he will be at one every afternoon, extending his lunch for another drag. The flames reflect in Ramsay’s arctic irises as he flicks open his lighter, cups his hand around the flame as he balances the cig in his mouth. Theon doesn’t watch him as he does this, doesn’t examine his hands and the color of his eyes.

Doesn’t think of the way his fingers touch Ramsay’s as he hands Theon the cigarette that had just been in his mouth.

Ramsay is blowing smoke up into the air with a sigh. “What kind of guys are you into then? What’s your type?”

Theon chokes on the smoke in his lungs. Stares. “Are you serious? You’re still thinking about that? I’m not sure if I should be flattered or worried. It isn’t an issue is it?”

“It’s not an issue, I just was thinking about it,” Ramsay says evasively, taking his cigarette back from Theon’s lips.

“I don’t have a type. I’m not really into men. We just…sort of came together after being together for so many years,” Theon says as an afterthought, realizing the other man is expecting an answer. “You should stop thinking about it.”

Ramsay sneers, that quirk of his eyebrow (piercing now absent). “Don’t flatter yourself, I was just curious.”

“Of course.”

Afterwards, for the next session to go over building plans and landscape permit ideas, Ramsay shoots down all of Theon’s ideas with the elegance of a fox. Theon feels better, because this means nothing has changed, Ramsay Bolton is still a complete dick that lives to make his life difficult.

 Ramsay grins, pleased with himself when Jory Cassel slams his hand on the wood table and accuses him of dragging everything out so the lawyer fees can eat Ned Stark alive. “Goddamn piranha!” Jory growls, staring at Ramsay pointedly.

* * *

 

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” Ramsay says in rush, Theon almost unable to understand his words through the phone.

Theon walks into his bathroom, Robb asleep in the other room. Whispering, he says, “Can’t stop thinking about what, asshole? It’s midnight.”

“Ever since that stupid fucking night, I can’t stop wondering what you fucking sound like. What you look like when someone sucks your cock. What your filthy stupid mouth says when you fuck,” Ramsay sneers into the phone, angry about something. “God, I bet you’re a dirty talker.”

Probably angry at himself, based on the strange turn this conversation has taken. Theon is stunned for a moment, doesn’t even know what to say. He’s horrified actually, this can’t be happening.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, fucking ‘ _oh_ ’,” Ramsay snarls furiously on the other end, his voice cracking.

* * *

 

Everything, and Theon means _everything_ , goes downhill from there.

It’s Saturday when he and Robb lounge around the house, though Robb notices something is off. It’s one of Theon’s depressive states, the kind that drives Robb mad. “You’re upset about something.”

Lying on the couch with an arm thrown over his eyes, Theon says, “I’m not. I just don’t feel right. Everything feels wrong.”

“You can stop being depressed if you put some effort into it. You have nothing to be miserable about, Theon. You’re being ridiculous and dramatic,” Robb says caustically.

He’s seen this song and dance with Theon before. Theon’s always had depression, for as long as he can remember. The abuse from his childhood mixed with the feelings of never being good enough always spawned at random times, making him feel like spiraling out of control.

Like throwing himself into the sea and letting himself go.

Like sitting in the bathtub and going under the water until he runs out of air, wondering if maybe Robb will love him more if he dies. Like slitting his wrist open until he bleeds out, red blood a song in his mind.

“I can’t just fucking stop, Robb. It’s called depression and I don’t choose it,” Theon grits out, irritable, caring about nothing in the world.  

Robb is a good sport, let’s Theon’s nastiness slide. He runs his hands through his hair gently and whispers, “I don’t want you to be sad, because I love you.”

Theon wishes he could feel something, anything, but all he feels is numb. He’s not deserving and Robb has always deserved better than him. He’s a monster, one who’s been thinking of someone else, been wondering what it would be like to try something wild and dangerous, crazy.

Wonders what it would be like to be with someone who will treat him like he deserves to be treated.

Like a dog. A disloyal, traitorous dog.

“You’ve been tasting like cigarettes lately; since when did you start smoking?”

“Not sure,” Theon says flatly.

* * *

 

It happens less than a week later when Theon’s feeling particularly down and hateful. He shouldn’t do it, knows he shouldn’t, but he follows Ramsay down to the parking garage, floor five underground, down to his Lexus. He left his extra pack of smokes in the car and Theon wants to smoke with him, wants to feel the burn of cigarettes in his lungs.

He wants the sting of nicotine to help him forget Ramsay Bolton’s call to him that one night at midnight, freaking out about his unwanted attraction that is apparently all Theon’s fault. Because of course it’s Theon’s fault.

Ramsay climbs in his back seat, rifles around for the pack and laughs in victory when he finds them, holds them up for Theon to grab behind his head. Theon doesn’t take them though, he just crouches there, not quite in the car but not quite outside of it.

Stone still, barely breathing. Isn’t looking at the way Ramsay’s slacks hug his ass.

Ramsay turns his head to finally catch his eyes and what he sees there makes him stop breathing. His eyes dilate, turning them nearly black right before Theon’s eyes.

Theon doesn’t remember pushing him back into the leather backseat, but the door shuts behind him and that’s where he finds himself, his tongue halfway down Ramsay Bolton’s throat.

Or rather, shoving his tongue down the throat of someone who is not Robb Stark. He pushes the thought away, hungry and desperate, his body in flames and wanting. Desire is a sea and it only pulls you deeper, into the dark undertow where you either pull yourself out or drown.

Theon wants to drown. He’s made this choice.

So, this is how he finds himself screwing around in the backseat of Ramsay’s dark Lexus. If you had told Theon this would happen, that he would fuck up so bad, maybe he would have run the other way. It’s broad daylight out, but they are below ground in the parking garage under their office. The thrill of being caught only adds to Theon’s disgusting thirst for the man he’s pressing into the leather, tangling his legs with. Truth be told, there isn’t much room there, but rutting against each other, like they want to tear into each other’s flesh, is filthy perfection.

Ramsay is all over him, the scent of cigarettes and Versace cologne wrapping around Theon in a haze. His tongue is in Theon’s ear as he groans, the sound loud from pure proximity. The vocalization of his pleasure is enough to make Theon bare his throat, panting and sweating.

“God, look at you,” Ramsay says into Theon’s skin as he runs his teeth down his neck, “You’re so fucking desperate for it.”

Theon grabs Ramsay’s red tie and pulls on it aggressively, all while shoving his hand into Ramsay’s slacks. He grips Ramsay’s cock, hot and heavy in his hand, palms it roughly. His underwear is beginning to get soaked and if Theon doesn’t get him out of these slacks soon, Ramsay’s slacks will have wet marks on them.

“You’re wet like a girl for me,” Theon says lowly, “I wonder if you taste like one too.” The other man growls, moans with abandon and Theon is half worried someone in the parking garage will hear them. “And if I’m desperate,” Theon hisses, “What does that make you? You moan like a whore.”

Teeth, sharp and fierce, press deep into Theon’s neck, the sensitive place between his shoulder and neck. The feeling is like fireworks, like an explosion across all the nerve endings in Theon’s throat. He wraps his legs up around Ramsay’s hips, trying to get closer. Presses their cocks against each other, desire running up and down his spine like flames.

Theon's balls ache and he wants their clothes to be gone.

“It makes me the man who will fuck you until you can’t remember your own name,” Ramsay rasps, pushing his hips against Theon, small, humping motions.

He latches his mouth around another spot on Theon’s neck and finally Theon comes to his senses.

“You can’t leave any marks,” Theon gasps, trying hard to steel himself against the lust in his belly, a yawning hole desperate for more until there is no difference between himself and the man sucking and biting at his neck.

“Then how is _he_ supposed to know that you’re mine?”

“Don’t talk about Robb, asshole," Theon snaps, "He’s got nothing to do with this and I’m not fucking yours!”

A hand wraps around his throat dangerously. “I want you to be.”

Theon whines, stares and stares up into that all-consuming, possessive gaze. Time flashes by, nearly an hour of them playing around, just hungry to touch each other’s bodies. Ramsay is more curious, unsure, not sure what he’s supposed to do with a man.

“Just do what you want,” Theon breathes out, “Do what you would want me to do to you.”

The other man flushes red, hates being coached. He touches the outline of Theon’s cock, seems impressed and horrified by his size. “I’m not a fucking virgin.”

“With me, you are,” Theon says matter-of-factly, biting Ramsay’s neck hard. He can leave marks; it isn’t like Ramsay has a significant other to worry about. Not like Theon, traitorous fucking Theon.

He wants to leave marks all over Ramsay, to prove he was there, to prove Theon made him feel this way.

They end up in a sixty-nine position, their mouths wrapped around each other's cocks. Theon is better at swallowing Ramsay down, has more experience with the act itself. Ramsay’s cock is a good fit, not overbearing, not like Theon’s. Mentally, Theon gives Ramsay props for tackling the thing, because Theon has always been a bit above average.

Theon’s always been proud of that fact, actually.

The other man was apprehensive, flushed and embarrassed when confronted with the idea of sucking Theon’s cock. Theon had been afraid that he wouldn’t do it, that he would push Theon out of his car and tell him to fuck off. But he didn’t. He glared at Theon hatefully and wrapped his lips around Theon’s dick and Theon nearly died.

He likes the way Ramsay’s mouth feels, the not quite practiced way that he handles Theon, his sloppy mouth and unsure hands. Ridiculously, Theon is madly in love with it, his inexperience at sucking cock. Theon swallows Ramsay down, plays with his balls and uses his throat to get him off. Ramsay pulls off of Theon’s cock to cry out with his release, more a sob than anything.

When Theon lets Ramsay slip from his mouth, Ramsay cranes his head to look at Theon is dazed awe. "You swallowed."

Theon rolls his eyes as taps his tip against Ramsay's lips again, a reminder. "Use your tongue a little more. You're doing good," Theon reassures, voice raspy, ravenous.

Dangerous eyes flash and Theon vaguely wonders if he's going to get his dick bit off instead of sucked. It sends a thrill of adrenaline down his spine. After a long stare, Ramsay takes Theon in again, tongue sliding awkwardly against his heated flesh. It doesn’t take much longer for him to bring Theon to a finish, though he does need the help of his hands to do so, which is perfectly fine with Theon. Ramsay gags and shoves open the car door, spitting Theon’s release onto the garage cement. “I fucking hate that,” he says hoarsely, his throat completely wrecked.

“I’m sorry, did you want me to cum on your pristine leather seats? I’ll remember that for next time,” Theon says, out of breath, smiling smugly.

The other man sits up, gives him that notorious side-eye of his. Slate grey eyes, hungry and dangerous. “Next time?”

Theon ignores the inquiry. He grabs Ramsay’s wrist and examines his watch, curses. “We’re going to be late to the next meeting. Fuck. I don’t have any jizz on my face, do I? How’s my hair?”

Ramsay snorts as he steps out of the car, adjusting his tie and black slack, pulling on his trim sport coat once more. Cool as ice, despite the flush on his cheeks. “Next time, I ought to come on you and send you home that way,” he says, a jealous sneer curling his lips.

Theon slides out of the backseat, suddenly feeling cheap and guilty. Sickness replaces desire in his belly, slime and trash. “Stop talking about Robb. Stop fucking bringing it up.”

It’s just a blowjob. It doesn’t mean anything. That’s what Theon tells himself.  
  
He's lying to himself and he knows it.

 

* * *

When Theon gets home that afternoon, he steps into his house and feels like a monster. His mouth tastes of cigarettes and another man’s cum and he’s betrayed the man he loves.  

* * *

 

He invites Ramsay over one day, to play video games and hang out. He knows that Robb is out of the house for most of the day, doing some stuff with Jon. He figures he can just hang out with Bolton and that’s what he does.

Nothing, absolutely nothing nefarious happens. In fact, Theon has a good time. It’s almost like hanging out with a regular friend.

 _He is a regular friend slash enemy. Frenemy. I’m not…there’s nothing here for Robb to see, nothing for him to be suspicious about,_ Theon thinks to himself, trying to convince himself that he’s not pure, complete trash in human form. He can control himself; the thing with Ramsay was a fluke. A one time thing. In fact, never happened! 

Ha.

When Robb comes home though, Theon can feel the instant tension permeate the room, almost senses the way that Ramsay’s hackles rise at the very sight of Robb. It’s Robb’s house, so the very idea of it is ridiculous. Theon tries to smile as fluidly as possible, hopes it’s convincing.

_This was a terrible idea; I hope he doesn’t start a scene._

As he kisses Robb, tastes his spearmint lips, he feels the way Ramsay's gaze burns into his back, barely leashed. 

He never brings Ramsay to his place again after that.

* * *

 

Theon tries to tell himself that he’s not really cheating, that fooling around doesn’t really count. Kissing another guy doesn’t really count.

But he knows. He knows he’s complete trash.  _Blowing a dude is cheating though, isn't it, Theon? What if Robb founds someone else, how would you feel then?_

He can’t stop and he can’t come clean. Robb already hates that he hangs out with Ramsay, hates the guy with a passion. Theon can’t imagine telling him that he’s been fooling around with the very guy that Robb despises.

_Why am I so awful, why do I do this to him?_

 

* * *

 

On the night that Theon realizes that Ramsay Bolton is a painfully jealous, possessive man, he nearly blacks out from suffocation.

They go to Ramsay’s place, after work, after a happy hour that was used to attempt to foster good will between the two constantly fighting teams.

Robb sends an innocent text and Theon answers, a sad smile on his lips. It sets Ramsay off, already slightly drunk and irritable. Horny and jealous in equal parts, a dangerous mix. He pushes Theon down on his bed, teeth bared and eyes flashing.

“Why don’t you leave him? Huh?” Ramsay snarls, wrapping his tie around Theon’s throat. Pulling hard, angry. Raw with emotion, too much emotion. “I won’t fucking beg. I bet that’s what you want, for me to get on my knees.”

As the tie tightens around Theon's throat, cutting off his air so briefly that he sees white lights in his vision, he thinks:

_No, you’ll just strangle me so that no one wins. If you can't have me, no one can._

**Author's Note:**

>  **AN:** Comments and kudos are lovely!! They always make my day, no matter what.


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